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<title>Of Honor and Of Courage by HeyItsEm (MrsHalstead_Soffer)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960419">Of Honor and Of Courage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHalstead_Soffer/pseuds/HeyItsEm'>HeyItsEm (MrsHalstead_Soffer)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Rookie (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, How Do I Tag, Mild Language, Military Background, Military Uniforms, So much angst, give me tim in an army uniform or give me death, give me tim's military background</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:48:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHalstead_Soffer/pseuds/HeyItsEm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Bradford hates wearing the Army Class A uniform, but he will put it on anyways.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Bradford &amp; Lucy Chen, Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Of Honor and Of Courage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic isn't fluffy but it isn't dark either. Find me on Tumblr at toews-a-peek! Let me know what you think! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim Bradford hates days like today. Hates when the week goes by too soon, in the blink of an eye. He feels as though he is standing still, while the world continues to move at a non-stop pace around him. But he stops his darkening thoughts before they get the better of him, taking him back there, the place that has taken him over a decade to get over and somewhat heal or try to heal from. He shakes the thoughts from his head, turning off the faucet of the shower and stepping out, wrapping a towel around his lower half before walking over to the sink, inspecting the stubble on his face. He knows he should shave the hairs a little closer to the skin, but it’s his preference to have some form of facial hair, he hasn’t been completely clean shaven since before he was a boot himself.</p><p>He grabs the stick of deodorant, rolling the woodsy scent on before brushing his teeth, adding a minute amount of cologne onto his skin as he goes. He steps out of the bathroom, the chill in the air of the bedroom compared to the dampness of the bathroom making goosebumps creep across his skin as he makes his way across the room, never giving a second glance towards the freshly shined black dress shoes that lay on top of a large cardboard box on the unscathed bed with a black leather belt.</p><p><em>'Fuck. Why now? Why today?'</em> He thought to himself, as he continued with his motions, walking over to the standing dresser, grabbing and sliding on his Michael Kors watch that stayed in the box it came in, only to be brought out on special occasions. He snapped the latch of the metal band in place. Click. That little noise was just enough to take him back, take him back to one of the many memories he would like to forget.</p><p>
  <em>"Shit, I could go for a beer right now." Phillips whined.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Do you do this much whining when you're at home princess? I don't see how any woman can put up with that." Tim laughed at the younger rookie as they made their way back to base from the location they had successfully breeched.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Oh, none of them do but I get punished for it by the girlfriend. All. Night. Long." The rookie came back, resulting in a few whoops and pats on the back from others in the unit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"All right, enough." Captain Trey Hunter ordered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The group was all smiles as they got closer to base, that was until the ringing of a phone, busted the bubble like a pin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Alright, that was Major Braxton, there is some suspicious activity happening at one of the buildings near the plaza in town, they want us to go check it out." Hunter informed the group, placing his satellite phone back into his vest pocket.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fuck. Clay, what are we looking at?" Tim asked as the Hum-Vee approached the outskirts of the small Iranian Town. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Satellites are showing five warm bodies hanging out in front of a three-story building, the images are complete shit, cannot give you much more than that." Clay Teague spoke through to the team through the headset.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do we know what the building is?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For a few moments nothing but the rhythmic sound of keys clacking on the keyboard was all that could be heard. “Alright, it looks to be a closed clinic with a residence on the top floor. There’s a stairwell on the southwest side.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Could be nothing.” Bradley Denver spoke first, adjusting the strap for his helmet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Or it could be something.” Lucas Wilson countered. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Hum-Vee pulled up to the front of the supposed abandoned three-story building, two locals moving around fifty yards down the street was the only people to be seen. The team stepped out of the vehicle with their weapons at the ready, noticing that sounds that should have been there, coming from the surrounding stores and shops were non-existent around them, the hair standing up on the back of their necks, chills being sent down their spines, the eeriness of it all, sending them on high alert. The six-man unit listened to their technical support, Clay Teague through their earpieces, as they moved to each entry on the building, each going their separate ways to clear the first floor. Tim cleared the last room on the floor, making his way over to the stairs in the building, meeting up with the rest of the unit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Bradford, you and Phillips take the second floor. Randall and Denver, cover the back stairwell. Wilson and I will take the third floor." Hunter ordered out.</em>
</p><p><em>Tim and the other three men made their way up the staircase, Tim’s boots heavy on the wood as the hairs on his neck and arms stood as anticipation and fear as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He waited at the door for Sam Phillips to join him.</em> <em>They stood, waiting in eagerness for the rest of the unit to get to their assigned areas. Each team waiting for the command to breech at once, the countdown coming as each team fell into place.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tim kicked the door in before grabbing the weapon strapped around his shoulder in one swift movement, following Phillips into the space as they began clearing the room together, rounding the corners on open doors.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“This is Denver, stairwell is clear.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Bradford, second floor clear.” Tim followed Phillips back towards the stairwell, their long guns drawn as the beads of sweat that had formed in copious amounts from the heat slid down his face from underneath his helmet, the salty water falling under his safety glasses as they maneuvered back towards entry. “Team Alpha, sitrep.” He asked, the sound of static filling his ears in response as he asked again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Retreat! Retreat! IED." Was yelled through the comm piece, busting eardrums as the sounds of a struggle occurred above them. Tim grabbed onto the vest of his friend with both hands, pulling Phillips through their closest exit, the glass of the window shattering as they fell through, landing on the pavement below. The building disintegrating around them as they laid on the street, pieces of plaster, block and metal falling around them.</em>
</p><p>That was the last thing he remembered after receiving a severe concussion, along with multiple contusions and abrasions. Tim woke up to the sounds of a heartrate monitor, the smell of disinfectant and the feel of metal sticking up through the foam of the medical bed, digging into his back. He asked, “Are they ok?” before finding out Bradley Denver and Alex Randall had saved Phillips and his asses, pulling them further away to safety though injured themselves from the blast. He knew, call it a gut feeling, before asking about the other two members of their unit what the response was going to be, finding out that Captain Trey Hunter and Private First Class Lucas Wilson were not as lucky, losing their lives in the blast.</p><p>Tim shook his head, to clear is mind of the nightmare, grabbing onto the overlap of the wooden chest of drawers for some kind of grounding. <em>'I will not break, not today.</em>' He mentally told himself, watching as his knuckles turned white under the pressure before he let go of the wood, moving to sit down on the king size mattress. He ran a hand over his face before reaching into the nightstand on his side of the bed, grabbing for the chain that held two thin pieces of metal, sliding the necklace over his head, letting them fall against his chest. He didn’t wear them often, keeping them locked away, the pieces of identification more of a burden to him than anything he felt he could be proud of.  He should be proud for his service, most days he is but today, today was not one of those days.</p><p>Tim tried to gather his thoughts and emotions, standing up from the bed, walking over to his walk-in closet. He knew where it was hanging, in the very back, covered in a black trash bag that he had threw over the clear one from the dry cleaners. He couldn't stand to look at it, every time he would walk into his closet in search of something to wear, it was there taunting him, mocking him over the ones he couldn't save, the ones where he carried their blood on his hands.</p><p>He pushed the surrounding clothes that were hanging to the side and pulled the hanger off the rack, walking back over to the bed and throwing it down onto the mattress before going to his dresser, dropping the towel that was still slung around his waist as he rummaged in the third drawer from the bottom, finding a pair of boxers and pulling them on. He glanced at the clock sitting on the nightstand, the bold red numbers that he had looked at all morning were once again mocking him, the numbers moving as slow as the traffic outside on the interstate. He refused to be late and was rarely late when he had somewhere to be, being up at the crack of dawn had long ago become a habit.</p><p>With a trembling hand, he held onto the hanger, pulling off the sheets of plastic that kept it clean and looking like new. Looking like new. He has proudly dressed and worn the uniform countless times, to galas and balls, to inaugurals and ceremony's, even to a wedding, but the number that continues to grow, is the one he wishes would stop, the number of times he has put on the uniform for a funeral is forever etched into his memory. Seventeen. Seventeen times he has thrown on the uniform and offered his condolences to the family of the fallen, holding the mothers, girlfriends, wives as their tears soaked through the dark blue fabric, silently wishing that it were him in his fallen comrade's place. Five times has he kneeled down at the small child that was holding onto their mother’s hand for dear life, being punched in the gut as the child who bore a strong resemblance to their father, right down to the very last curl on their head and states a variation of “Mommy said Daddy is with the angels now. Can I go see him?” in their smallest voice. Tim chokes and offers a small smile as he blinked back the tears, telling them "You'll see him another day, he is watching over you now." Before getting up and walking out the door, vowing never to go back in there, never to do it again, but he does, time and time again because that is who he is.</p><p>He slides the dark navy-blue pants off the metal first, grabbing them before they fall to the ground, careful not to let a spick of dust or dirt cling to the fabric. He gracefully slides them on, grabbing the black leather belt from on top of the bed, sliding the leather through the loops. He grabbed a pair of black socks and slides them on, pulling them up as far as they each would go before grabbing the polished dress shoes and slipping into them. He grabs the white collared shirt as he makes his way over to the full-length mirror placed against the far wall and checks his presentation, inspecting for creases and wrinkles in the fabric, relived to find none that would need to be fixed with immediate ironing. He throws on the thick white collard dress shirt, fumbling with the plastic buttons as he slides each one into their place, only when reaching the top does he realize he missed a button and undoes each plastic piece before he starts all over.</p><p>Tim glances at the clock once again, realizing how fast time is moving now, or maybe he has just slowed. He slides one of the last articles of clothing needed off the hook, the thick dark blue jacket weighs like a ton of bricks in his hand as he slides his right arm in the sleeve, followed by his left in the other. He goes back to the closet, grabbing a black tie from the tie rack, sliding the smooth material around his neck and under the collar of his shirt as he moves back into the bedroom. <em>'Shit</em>.' He thought to himself as he tries to remember how to tie the fabric. After his fifth attempt and standing in front of the mirror, he left it like it was and quickly buttoned the thick dark blue fabric together. He walked back over to the dresser, opening up two of the black velvet boxes sitting on top. The first box holds a black name plate similar to the one he wears on the job, T. Bradford, etched into the brass, along with a crest, signifying his branch of the army. The second box held various smaller pins and badges, of varying color. The insignias representing various accomplishments and pertinent information, while the badges represented his division and various awards. He pins the necessary information to his uniform, before grabbing his phone, wallet, and keys from on top of the dresser, throwing it into the various pockets on his uniform, double checking the brass now attached to the jacket, to make sure it was free of fingerprints.</p><p>"You ready?" he heard a familiar female voice ask from behind him, her heels hitting the hardwood floor as she walked into the bedroom.</p><p>"You don't have to do this you know." His voice lowly rasped.</p><p>"I know, but I want to." She told him, placing her hands on his shoulders from behind.</p><p>He nodded his head, turning around in her arms as he stared at the woman before him. "You look good." She told him. "Not sure if I prefer you in t-shirts and jeans or <em>another</em> kind of uniform."</p><p>"I don’t-" He said before laughing to himself, “I don’t remember how to tie a tie.” He confessed, shaking his head.</p><p>"You didn't seem to have a problem the other night..." she smiled as she stepped in front of him, grabbing the fabric from his hands, effortlessly looping and weaving the thin material together before making a knot and tightening it up to his neck. She leaned in closer, his towering and muscular frame still taller than her, even in her three-inch black pumps, as she placed a gentle kiss on his lips.</p><p>"What did I ever do to deserve you?" he thought aloud as he pulled back from her wine colored lips, his hands grasping her waist on either side, pulling her lower half closer.</p><p>"You know, I ask myself that question every day." She smiled, placing another quick but meaningful peck on his lips. "We're going to be late."</p><p>Tim slipped out of the embrace, walking over to the large cardboard box on the bed, removing the lid. Inside, neatly folded were a pair of pearly white gloves, with a flattened out blue aiguillette and black beret. He lifted the aiguillette out, slipping it onto his left shoulder, latching it into place before reaching for the beret, placing it on his head, glancing over to the mirror to make sure the insignia was correctly placed. He grabbed the white gloves, slipping them on one hand at a time, before he turned around.</p><p>As he turned around, Lucy couldn't help but feel sorrow and pain at the sight before her. She knew he hated to put on and wear the Class A uniform, hated all the memories that it drug up, hated that it would take him a few days to recoup from the emotions of the day. She took in his appearance, the freshly polished shoes, the creaseless dark dress pants, the shine of the medals and pins hanging on the thick dark blue jacket; but most of all she took in the varying emotions on his face, the suit brought out the grey of his eyes, but did nothing to hide the few dark bags hanging underneath from the sleepless nights that followed the phone call.</p><p>She walked over, gazing into his glossy eyes, as her hand gently touched his cheek, before her hand traveled down his arm, taking his gloved hand into hers, as she pulled him out of the bedroom and towards the front door. She could feel his muscles tense as they walked down the hallway and towards the car parked behind his truck in the drive, her waiting Kia. Tim removed his beret, as he slipped into the passenger seat of her car, thankful she was the one driving. Lucy casted him a worried look as she cranked the engine and made their way down the quiet street, driving towards the site of the burial. Tim said nothing, keeping his focus on the world that was passing around them, one hand tightly clenching his hat as the other switched between resting on his forehead and chin, he was trying not to think, trying not to break, but it seemed like every little thing was removing the scab off a wound from the past. He gave up, his head hitting the headrest as he determined that closing his eyes and listening to the catchy tune on the radio that Lucy was humming to would keep him grounded. His right leg began impatiently bouncing as they hit the interstate, thoughts of the past, of bone dry dirt and damning sun began to invade his thoughts. He was tempted to grab the car handle and pull, jumping out, thinking that maybe that would be the best way out, but his thoughts melted away when he felt a hand on top of his left, giving it a gentle and reassuring squeeze before he relaxed and intertwined their fingers, giving her a slight squeeze of the hand.</p><p>It felt like they had been traveling for hours when they arrived at the cemetery, pulling up behind a row of cars. Lucy let go of Tim's hand and turned off the engine. The latter stayed in the seat, taking in the scenery around them, looking at the rows and rows of marble and granite that idolized the dead, leaving nothing but the name, birth date, death date, and sometimes a picture or quote, etched into the rock. The various types of fake flowers that decorated most plots with color took away little darkness, a few American Flags placed throughout, here and there, representing his fallen brothers and sisters. He glanced out his window, a grave near them catching his eye, but it wasn't the fresh bouquet of flowers or the older ones pushed to the side wilting away that got his attention, it was the red headed female, sitting with her back against the cold stone, her head buried in her lap. He stared, fighting the natural urge to jump out, and comfort the mourning stranger, to just wrap his arms around her, telling her that everything would be ok, even though he didn't know this woman from Adam.</p><p>"Tim?” Lucy asked, pulling him out of his thoughts with concern lacing her voice.</p><p>"I can't do this." He voiced, as he continued to stare out the window before he turned to face Lucy.</p><p>Lucy felt her heart break, the man who she knew to be as strong as iron, was falling apart in front of her. She reached across the center console, taking the side of his face into her palm once again, thumbing away the few tears that he never knew had fallen, before she leaned into him, pressing her forehead against his.</p><p>"You can." She whispered with confidence in her voice "You know, someone once told me that we cannot stop death, that sometimes, those that we love, have to go ahead of us to make sure the journey is safe. That sometimes, we need an extra guardian angel or two to keep an eye on us and help us get through whatever maybe lying on the road ahead." She said as she placed a light kiss on his forehead. "You can do this Tim, if not for yourself, then for his family."</p><p>“Isabel never came with me to these.” He confessed. “It’s not that she never cared, she never asked, and I never told. Alex… was like a brother, anyone in that unit is a brother." Tim said as he wiped the fresh tears away. "He would have loved you, he used to always bust my balls about how I needed to quit acting like a dick.” Tim chuckled.</p><p>“He sounds like a good guy.”</p><p>“He was.” Tim said as he pulled the handle on the car, opening the door.</p><p>Lucy rounded the car, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before taking his hand into hers after he placed the beret back onto his head.</p><p>The wind blowed and the sun shined as they walked down the paved road, coming upon a large group of people. Many were dressed like Tim, in their dress blues, other various people donning black dress suits, with women in various styles of black dresses and Sunday formal wear.</p><p>Tim stopped him and Lucy towards the back, taking in the scene in front of him. The bright floral arrangements surrounding a dark chestnut stained casket with the American flag draped on top with a line of people waiting to give their condolences to they family. Tim moved them to the back of the waiting line, as they made their way towards the front, exchanging pleasantries with other people in the crowd.</p><p>"Michelle..." Tim told the dark haired woman as he wrapped her in a hug.</p><p>"Tim. Thank you for coming.” She remorsefully smiled as she pulled back. "you are... we're one of his best friends..." the woman said as she held back a sob. "Is this your girl?"</p><p>“Yeah.” Tim smiled "Michelle this is Lucy, Lucy this is Michelle."</p><p>"Alex told me that you we're getting serious with some babe." Michelle laughed. "It's nice to meet you Lucy." She said as she extended her hand, to which Lucy accepted, as someone stepped around the two, offering their condolences to the new widow. "Listen, Tim? Don't be a stranger." She told them as they began to walk away to take their seats.</p><p>The two quickly found a pair empty seats in the back, away from all the commotion. Lucy, cuddling into Tim’s side as a strong gust of wind, sent shivers down her spine.</p><p>Other people around them found seats and the ceremony got started, multiple people speaking about Alex, varying from his childhood, to when he met Michelle and other significant life events.</p><p>"At this time, we ask that you all please stand." Lucy grabbed onto Tim’s gloved hand, holding onto it for dear life, preparing herself for what was about to come. Eight men, dressed in their formal service uniforms, marched several feet away from the casket and the crowd. Tim as well as the rest of the men surrounding them that were dressed in uniform raised their hand in salute. Seven of the men held rifles, as the eighth man commanded them "Ready. Aim. Fire." he told the men, doing as instructed, cocking the rifle, pulling it up into position, aiming at the sky, before they each pulled the trigger in-sync. The loud blast of the blank causing several in the crowd to jump at the echoing noise. "Ready. Aim. Fire." he instructed as the repeated the process once again, "Ready. Aim. Fire." he instructed one last time. The soft sound of a trumpet began playing the familiar wretched lullaby and the men dressed in uniform continued to salute. The tune continued, not leaving a dry eye within hearing distance, as two men dressed in their service uniforms, marched in-sync over to the casket and began folding the American Flag that was draped on top, folding it twelve times before kneeling and handing the folded fabric to Michelle, who grabbed it and clutched it to her chest as her sobs filled and echoed off the stones. Lucy squeezed Tim’s hand, as the chaplain said a closing prayer and row by row the seats began to clear.</p><p>“You ok?” She whispered as they walked back to her car.</p><p>“I will be.” He told her honestly as he pulled off the black beret, sitting down in the car, shutting the door before as he closed his eyes, the recent events and sleepless nights taking a toll on him emotionally and mentally.</p><p>He closed his eyes, for what he thought was a fraction of a second, but when he opened them back up, they were back their townhouse, Lucy parking behind his truck.</p><p>Tim trudged out of the Kia, Lucy following behind, as they walked the few steps to the front door. Tim pulling the keys out of his suit pants, unlocking the door, as they both stepped in, shutting it behind them. Lucy kicked her heels off beside the table at the door, before walking over to the fridge, grabbing two beers, popping the metal caps off of both, picking hers up and taking a long drag as Tim headed back to the bedroom.</p><p>He took off his gloves, checking to see if they were dirty, before placing them back into the open cardboard box, placing his black cap in beside, back into their previous positions, before unlatching and removing the aiguillette, placing it into the box and closing the lid with all its glory before picking up the box and moving it back into his closet, sitting it back into the dust void on the top shelf. He kicked off the now scuffed dress shoes, picking them up and placing them on the rack in his closet. He emptied out his pockets before slowly removing the insignias and badges from the front of his suit, placing them back into their respective black velvet boxes. He unbuttoned the heavy jacket, gently throwing it onto the bed before loosening his tie and unbuttoning the white collared shirt, smoothing each of the larger items out before placing them back onto the coat hanger. He loosened the belt, pulling it out of the loops, before grabbing the tie and hanging both back up on the racks in the closet. The pants fell to his ankles, stepping out of them and brushing them off of any stray hairs or dirt, before he folded them neatly and placed them onto the hanger. Reaching for the pair of sweatpants crumpled in the corner, throwing the comfortable fabric on. He reached across the bed, grabbing the clear plastic bag and sliding it on top before grabbing the black trash bag and doing the same, the metal dog tags rattling as they fell back against his chest. He looked down at the plastic in his hand, thinking about the uniform that lies beneath, the one that he has now wore to seventeen funerals. He makes a promise to himself to never wear it again, to push it back on the rack as far as it would go in the closet, to let it become a forgotten memory, a thing of the past, that should never be brought up again. But, he knows that what he is telling himself isn't true, that the words his mind keeps feeding him is false and accusatory information, that there will come another day he will have to put on the uniform, for a eighteenth time.</p><p>He hangs the metal back onto the rack, back into the far corner of his closet, shutting the door, willing the memories to go away as he walked out into the living room, finding Lucy stretched out on the couch, in one of his shirts and a pair of leggings she pulled from the dryer, watching some infomercial on the television. She offers him the beer she opened earlier as he sits down beside her, he accepts the cold brew, taking a long sip of the amber liquid, before pulling Lucy into his side, nuzzling her hair. The events of the day and the uniform that he had to don, temporarily forgotten.</p><p>For some, the uniform is just a part of the package, it is feared because of what it means, and sought out because of what it represents. To other's it is a monkey suit, nothing but politics and war. But to Tim, putting on the uniform is not dreaded, nor is it coveted, but rather it is a choice, a choice that gives him courage and honor, that represents what the great nation that he served has been through and the bravery of those that had passed serving their country. The day that Tim Bradford turned eighteen, he signed up, a small part of him doing so to to spite his abusive old man, and he never looked back. He doesn't expect to be commended and praised for his actions, nor does he want to be. But no matter the circumstances, no matter the reasoning, he is proud to be a soldier, he is proud to wear the uniform.</p><p> </p>
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